Dang!

Man at times I just don’t get situations. And people more often.

But it’s all so funny, so I don’t mind

Tripstars

This post is a lie. We dont even like the mentioned brand. But advertising often forces deals down your throats.

After a week long camping trip you’d usually expect to come back feeling fresh and all charged up. But the three of us felt rather drained on our arrival in the city. It was probably because of all the walking we did. And once we stepped into our pad, all but one of us wanted to do, was to crash.

Wangdi, being on a metro sexual trip these days, was rather pepped up. His pep had something to do with an apparent detox that his body had gone through. Because of all the sweating we indulged in while we trekked in the past week, wangdi had his “skin glowing with radiance”. Very gay.

So after stepping into our messy heaven, we threw our rucksacks where they least belonged and collapsed. A few minutes of lazing on the floor – in a room as hot as an oven is when thirst struck. The kind of a thirst that knows what it needs to quench itself. A thirst with a very specific antidote. We were all probably thinking about it in these many words when we passed a smile amongst each other. Wangdi being the prince of gaydom, popped up and offered to strut to the safe.

“Safe?” you might wonder. See, with beer this Godly, its imperative to have a separate refrigeration facility for it. So our very own Paris Hilton (as we’d recently started calling him)catwalked and got us our favorite golden bubbly. On the count of 4 and not 3, we chewed our retro looking botts open.

Budwieser is something that goes back quite some time, when it comes to the collective lives of the three of us. Back to our days of glory – barely a year and a half back as the “quite some time” may be. The many University matches that we not only were witness to, but part of, under its happy influence. The many classes that we attended, while our backpacks clanged with empty botts of Bud.

So we took our first sip, spared a moment of nostalgia, that hardly qualified as being called it; and carried out our ritual of sprinkling the second sip onto the framed Katrina Kaif poster. We’d only commenced with our trash talk about the failures of the National Highways Authority of India, when Wangdi snapped back to reality and screamed “Aaah… fuck detox. Im gonna guzzle”

We walked/crawled/writhed to our huge balcony that overlooks an all women’s gym and enjoyed what we realized we had been missing for a whole week. And after an hour of cleavage gazing and mathematical calculations that had a lot to do with mass and its relation to gravity, our discussion got to a point when we just couldn’t understand what it was that made us do the “get away” in the first place. The city is where us buds belonged! The city is where the life is! The budlife!

Macabre Zindabad

Worth a browze, these two.

http://ops.tamu.edu/x075bb/poems/gorey/

http://www.myfirstdictionary.blogspot.com/

Nigambodh gets it on.

ok so we went to IIT Kanpur for a lark. All we had on our minds was to gain some momentum in the circuit, let people know that we existed.

Registered ourselves at the fest for a whopping 650 each, had ourselves dumped with the rest of the bands at a shoddy dorm and smoked ourselves retarded for a good 4 days.

Manish scored well with a cutie from delhi and finally got himself some action.

Also, we won 2nd place at the rock fest. We were judged by these firangi rock n rollers who call themselves "Jaded Sun". The win came despite San facing massive technical fuck ups and missing out on his awesome solos while we continued to play on.

Also, also we won 3rd place in the fusion event. Plus we managed to bag the best bassy and best vox awards as well.

The fest left the band richer by around 30k in cash, a spanking new Epiphone les paul bass, a cannon digicam and hordes of people who call themselves our fans.

Yes! we have fans! haha!

Good trip.

Who me?

Been long since i wrote anything in here.

Not much that I'd want you to know has happened since.

So chill.

Not Artois Enough

Something that got bombed at the agency today. But i love it.

9 steps to a perfect first date

1) Sport a slight stubble. Shaven to the skin, is well, just gay!

2) Before picking her up. Make sure you’ve left no trace of gum residue on the windscreen, while you peeled off that “rent a car” sticker from your Bentley.

3) Needless to mention, wear your best attire. If she was the kind who didn’t care, you wouldn’t have needed that Bentley.

4) You don’t want to scare her with your love for BDSM on the first date. Your hold must be gentle when you greet her.

5) The first three pages on “greatoneliners.com” have been abused to death. Arm yourself with jokes, the 4^th page onwards.

6) You don’t want her to know that your familiarity to Italian Cuisine is limited to just pizzas. Take her out to a Lebanese restaurant – she’d be equally clueless.

7) Never order cola. You know you can’t hold that burp in.

8) No matter how big and mushy, talk to her not them.

9)Save this ad for future reference.

Ode to Tenzine

my shite.
Hot and mellow, almost yellow,
In thine eyes i see.

For a reason not known to man,
you continue in continu-um
and try. In vain.
To reach the divine shite
with your waggy tongue.

my shite.
Eat it.Bitch!

When trance is psy

The nuclei collapse into balls of light, giving birth to a plethora of colours. Photons shoot out of a vacationed fissionary school. The tribe shakes its ends in the air, trying to catch them brights. Sounds of intermittent bass lines surround and then fade into clicks. And then silence.
Human Choirs try in vain to emulate sounds of the ocean.
Engulfed by flashes of light, white light. The tribe waves at the pepper haired man on a podium. He responds by throwing a sphere of sound at them. They die. Instantaneously.

This being my favorite psy night of all time. till date.
Raja ram came down to gurgaon. killed it.

My weekend

I am so motivated to travel right now that i could just jump into my untrustworthy zen and drive fucking off. Anywhere. I'd love to be anywhere but fucking here man. Not that being here is killing me - it's just that off late, ive realised what a rush travelling is! A rush that stays with me for a while, even after Im back. The excitement makes me perform better. At work, at sex, on stage. I usually come back not only refreshed, but driven!

However, travel i'd like to - without any baggage. at my own will. The way I want to , where i want to. i want to take along just the self. "Into the wild". Its going to be my plan and its going to be my trip. and i think im going to do this around the 15th of this month. I'd probably head for the mountains up north. I'll end up broke in the middle of the month if i do this - i know. But What That Fuck. I'll do this. I'll fucking do this.

inlackofspace

thispostisntgoingtobetoolong.Butthecatchliesintheabseceofspacesbetweenwords.andthat'sthebeautyofitforyoucanreaditthewayyouwantto.Englishwillnotbindmydearfriends!thisisthepowerofperceptiontoitsmaximata

Twip Bubbleh

The sky rained itself demented outside, while he sat on his thinkpad - thinking. Directing his thoughts not towards what he was being paid for, but towards an escape. An escape from this trap that he had only recently realized he was in. “Fucking masochistic - this life, I tell you!” he thought to himself.

He was only a few minutes into his thought-pool, when his buds called out to him from across the white hallway. “Fucker! Wanna come out for a smoke?” As they both synchronized a peculiar hand gesture. A gesture, that would attract eager smiles from the like aged. A gesture, that involved rolling an imaginary sheet of paper between one’s index finger and the thumb.

Pat didn’t think twice before he switched his monitor off. (Something he intentionally did while leaving his desk. He did his bit towards environment protection). He nudged his chair back a couple of feet with his ass and paced out with the two of them.

The trio walked across the patio, to their car, parked barely 15 seconds away. 15 seconds in that downpour though, served enough to drench them to the skin. They jumped into their champagne coloured hatchback and slammed the doors behind them. They looked at each other in childish excitement, while the rain their hair had collected, flowed off their noses. Drop by ticklish drop.

After a moment of uncanny silence, Mark barked, “You wanna roll or what man?!” This exclamation of his attracted a frown from the other two, as they almost harmonically choired, “You have the stuff, don’t you?” The two gave each other a split second stare that screamed “WTF!”

They consciously chose not to voice the WTF. For they thought pointing out their lately common vocal synchronies would be rendered a corny observation by the other. With the massive egos they had, being assumed corny would be a disaster. But by the time Mark remembered that he did have some stuff on him and rolled it onto the dash, the moment had passed anyway.

So Mark prepared their appetizer as Pat drove. Rather inched! See, there was a massive snarl right outside their office complex because of the rain. Typical of Delhi traffic. A centimeter of rain; and there you have ‘em. Roads choked like a whores on dicks.

But our three motherfuck’eteers were anything but bothered. They were out to tap some bong. Not bong as in bangla-bong. But otherwise. Only they had no bongs to tap. Bangla AND otherwise. This though, was hardly an issue for them. For they smoked the DU way - Just lace your 5 buck cancer stick with some hashish grains. And presto.

So they smoked.

Mark got stoned in the first drag

Pat, after a couple of puffs, was as happy as a goat grazing on Swiss meadows.

And D assumed her usual “I’m so cool. I don’t get high on anything” character.

Only; she could never hold this facade for longer than 5 minutes. Wonder why she even tried. Her antics, after she got high always gave it away. Antics that she never even realized that she was at! Like this time, she gazed out the rain dotted windscreen, with her mouth wide open, flicking the buttons on the car stereo’s remote. Almost as if, she was expecting the channel to change.

Their nice little trip bubble popped as D’s phone buzzed into this obnoxiously nasty ring tone. The fucking rot of an agency had managed to scuttle in here as well. Mark had been absconding from his desk for all this while. Which is what triggered the commotion at office. His incompetent boss found himself lost in the chaos at work and had decided to pull his lifeboat in. The three were all, but too used to shit coming their way when they least expected it. So they didn’t really get cranky when this happened to happen.

What Pat didn’t realize though, was that he’d just managed to escape the trap he’d been stressing about some 30 minutes back.

bLoT

Rosebery creatures

they pop and go.

They talk not

of michaelangelo.

With them i glide

to lands of the trance,

where only voids suffice

and not matter.

Geometry was a monster at school.

But now there's none around.

Only fluid lines that stand

in incompetence.

Unable to bind within them,

the colours of neon.

BIG red S

The big red S has been at it again lately.

Staring at me in the eye.

Only now, its stares lying on its side. More comfortable.

It blinks a lot these days, rapidly so, mommentarily.

But i can fix that. Dont worry. master.

It's hypnotized me into believing that it wants to be stolen and lie on my desk at home.

It shall be done.Master.

Muhuahahahahaah!

Happy valley

A drunken evening. A chauffeur driven ride to the tracks. An overnight sleepless glide on the rails to witness a morning full of chaos. A little bargaining with the locals and a 9 hour journey afresh. Sleep. A wake to nervousness. Scenes from the tele right before your eyes. Love at first sight. curiosity. Then sleep again.

A "welcome to the happy valley" signboard marked with bullet holes. Herds of beautiful women and men alike. Fields of saffron, circled with with monstrous rocks white, peppered with trees. The smell of greens. Fresh. Then a curfew stricken town. Gunmen and armoured vehicles that stand guarding daffodil lined streets.

Bombarded with a script i could not read.

Warmth. Food. Family. Food. Sleep. Food. And food some more - like I'd never had before.
A never ending water body - the life of the valley. Cholesterol-ed. People look at you with hope.
A panorama of meadows that meet ice. Rain. Hail. Snow.
Muddy glaciers melting into a thunderous river that runs with you everywhere.
A forest lodge at the edge of it and a night in it. Another night in a palatial house that floats. and then another. Some # to score. Wonderous.

Cherries!Strawberries! Straight off their orchids. A ford fiesta that took us everywhere and then finally to a fortress of an airport. xrays, sniffer dogs, frisking, anxiety.
Heroism!
A turbulent flight with a scared to death company, bad food and a malfunctioning in-flight entertainment system.

Welcome home. A wind blast tempretured at 44degree C. Long wait at the conveyor. Bad taxi. Nostalgia. Fuck!
All my wonders of why they want the valley so bad put to rest.

Drako Fellatio

I couldn't even judge right. But you can't blame me. Being in a circumstance remotely similar to mine - you'd crap your pants. Your neon signs would start to flicker and then short circuit. You'd cry and not know what to do. You'd turn your engines off, maybe even strip and run around naked - on a beach. That'd be quite a scene. You stripping naked and running on the beach. I'd either throw up or intercept you somewhere down the length of the beach and jiggle with you.

But then, that wouldn't be right. Jiggling with you in public, if at all.
Does it matter though? Being right all the time? Falling into that trap. That choosy societal black hole that's full of all the rights and wrongs none.
Now, how laid out a life would that be. Only doing what's right. Imagine knowing beforehand, of the choices you'd make. You'd practically be living Utopia.
Where's the action in something like that?

Anyway.

Atta Chowk in Melbourne

This woman cried out loud from her balcony on the 9th floor, "bastard! whose car do you think that is!?" And spat out a blob of sputum at him. He didn't see the blob coming his way, and accommodated it on his shiny bald scalp with a loud plop.

The woman heard the plop some 1.2 seconds after she saw it land. She didn't smile till she heard it land. And the smile was a vicious one, let me tell you.

But him; he didn't care two bits about the goo on his head. And gave absolutely no importance to the verbal abuse he received from the woman. She screamed these words at him everyday.
Every single day.
Every single day of his life.
Every single day of his miserable, deaf life.

He just walked into the parking lot every morning and went through the same routine. That's all. That's all he ever did. Every morning.

Meanwhile, elsewhere, a father cried his bloody baby to sleep.

what a beautiful life

The population around me fails to inspire me and so does the environment. Things are too comfortable for me to try and rack my grey muscle harder. I've been cracking ideas that have really impressed people at work lately. But the problem is, that those ideas dont impress ME. And I dont think an ad is good enough, if the creator himself thinks its mediocre!

The self remains unimpressed. I need action man, maybe a break.
I have a week long trip planned to Kasmir next month. I'm sure i'll have lots to write about once im back from there. I hope. I mean im so uninspired right now, that writing ads for a living aside, I dont even have anything worthwhile to even write about in my blog!
BAH.

What makes it worse is that im nearly broke - and its only the 2nd week into the month. I've got only 40 bucks on me right now and 300 in my salary account. I even tried freelancing this month to cover up for my broke-en- ness. And got a good assignment! I wrote some 5 television commercials for this private university. The client bought them all in the first go - but then, the buggers wont pay in time. They owe me around 10 K.

And i have a nasty cold. And have grown a mush. Imagine! i dont even feel like shaving.
Bhanchod.

Fuck i almost feel like a chick on PMS for ranting so much.
Bugger.

Tiger tiger burning brighter

Well, i shared the write up with my band.
this one
The next thing I knew... we were jamming, composing music to cover it.
We renamed it as "Doga ka intekaam" (Doga's vengeance). Doga being the tiger cub.
My bassy added another stanza to it.

The recording is very low res and the sound quality isn't a hit either. It sounds better on a set of headphones.
I'm on the drums.
WATCH!

The payback

The August autumn blankets humid memories
Of foxhunts and days of glory.
Left with pieces six, of silver
all to remind me of days that were.

Whatever’s left was not my plan
When swims in fancies was my game.
Doled it out tad before time
From six silvers to just a dime

Sell my body sell my soul
Or execute to make some more.
My options are but limited
Choose the easy track now – quick!

I am invincible , so is my knife
I am no specimen , nor is my life.
I slay for pleasure not for cash
I live for blood and blots in mud
I’d love to tread on but
My revenge against odds is complete
I’ve reached salvation – My good deed.

poeple them and people us.

Ive been obsessing over blogs lately…
Not that this is news… but of late I've been reading some foreign ones…ones logged in by folks living in some other part of the world. I happened to stumble onto one and just followed the links thereafter… kind of a fixation now.
What I’ve come to realize though, is how similar, yet different their lives are from the kind we live here! The only 2 things I've read people fretting about in their write ups are relationships and money issues.
These guys have to work their asses off to earn the kind of cash that’s barely enough for them to survive on. I could never imagine handling two jobs at a time… but its sort of a pre-requisite for survival there. And this is the United states I’m talking about.

Not that I’m living a fancy life here or that I have no financial issues to worry about… but 2 jobs?! Faack! No!

As far as relationships are concerned... well i have only my personal experiences to compare to. And believe me, i don't fret about them too much. That's probably because all of the ones that I'm involved in are secure. The security, i feel is more of a cultural issue. We here, tend to just live through the relationships we form - not that we take them for granted; but it's just that we don't bother looking outside of our relationships for options. (I wonder if I'm making any sense at all, really) The relationships we're currently in are penultimate. This goes for friends, girlfriends, folks ET all! We sort of have a make-do-with-what-you-have kind of an attitude. But then again, this is from what i feel about "us" from what I've learnt through my relationships with people around me.

Weird post.
whatever. yeah. Ughh!
I'm hungry, I'm gonna go snack.

Wrath-less

After being hooked to the lambs for over 4 years straight, i was very excited when i finally bought the Wrath album from my neighborhood music store. I was actually surprised to find it in a dreary place like faridabad, but that's a different story altogether.

Most carefully did i tear off the lamination and slide the disc into my car's stereo. What i heard for the next hour or so, however, was nothing short of utter disappointment.

Going by how beautifully the guys have progressed with each album that they have released, I expected this to be LOG's best work so far. And it was - but only production wise. Never have these guys sounded better. The mixing in there is superb and everything gels in well - except of course, for times when they've deliberately accentuated certain parts. The bass, for instance, in Contractor - which was a first in itself.

But coming back to my disappointment. Blythe is all over the fucking place! His vocals sound forced especially in his 'choke sermon'. And whatever it is that they are trying with their melodic riffs and solos. The solos lacked prominence and seemed highly uninspired to me. A few listens down, i still cant recall what any of their songs sounded like... Unlike their earlier albums that had tracks so catchy, that even my gardener would hum it to his kids.

The one track that Blythe did work good enough to give me goose flesh though, is 'In your Words'. A song that is opened by a floozy 'The passing'. The sound of which reminded me of my gods from the time i was still in school - Metallica. It is songs like 'In your words' that makes Lamb of God themselves. Sadly, it is songs like these that Wrath Lacks. 'Reclamation' comes a close second to In your Words with its powerful vocals and sledgehammer like riffs. Beautiful.

Needless to say Adler continues to churn out groove after unbelievable groove, many of which are interspersed by near incomprehensible fills.

All in all, even though i don't really hate this album, it is what Reload was for metallica, or what popularly perceived, 10000days was for Tool.

PS on 14th march2009 - actually i like dead seeds also

Hell surrenders

Our world is yours to burn
To rape.
We’re set to char
Decay.

We are the prey.
And you our lord,
That predates as a mandate.
In our country of sin
Of betrayal,
Glutton and sloth.

Sew your weaves of terror,
Mesh your demons – communicate,
Your mercenaries to slay
Us mortals, immortally cursed
To the end of this non existent day.

Behold!
These streams of puss shall gush,
through our gardens lush
With daisies that bloom death
And drip temptation.

Time has no end
And neither our pain.
No one to save us
from the preposterous.
Ridiculous!
This life we live,
to satiate hungers that never die!

Sew your weaves of terror,
Mesh your demons – communicate,
Your mercenaries to slay
Us mortals, immortally cursed
To the end of this non existent day.

Tiger Tiger Burning Brighter

Lurks in the shadows- mingles with blades tall.
Parting them to peep
at a game that opens into- gunshots and ricochets,
Bursts of blood and rain.


Spurts of life driven out of his own…
His own, who gave him life,
licks of love and warmth.
She, who launched him
to his own love for pungence - the colour red
She, who gave him his form.


Jungle demon yellow little,
Paint strippen’ black.
He doesn't deserve a death - nor pity
Just his country back!


He stands in awe
at the gasps, the chokes,
the groans in full colour – raw.

(He's witness to massacre…)

He stands there clueless -
before those misty eyes
that stare at him,
and then into nothingness.

Jungle demon yellow little,
Paint strippen’ black.
He doesn’t deserve a death - nor pity
Just his country back!

A new Year

... and nothing has changed.
Much.